Porcelain and the 6 Hamhocks
by vkdemon
Summary: The night of Prom Dave Karofsky runs into the woods praying he could cut out the parts of himself that he can't stand. Dave is split into 6 selves. Kurt finds him and they are hurled together through a journey to find peace with himself and eachother.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Porcelain and the 6 Hamhocks  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>Author:<strong> vkdemon  
><strong>Category:<strong> slash  
><strong>Genre(s):<strong> Cannon, Paranormal, Action, Angst, Drama  
><strong>Pairing(s):<strong> Dave/Kurt, tiny moment of Rachel/Finn  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Suspense, Violence, Suicidal Idealization  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Prom Queen  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 14,500  
><strong>Summary:<strong> The night of Prom Dave Karofsky runs into the woods praying he could cut out the parts of himself that he can't stand. That wish is granted as Dave is split into 6 separate part of himself. Kurt finds him and they are hurled together through a journey to find peace with himself and eachother.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong>I like to call this a Gestalt therapy fic. Dave's inner struggles are manifested and he must deal with himself with Kurt as the mediator/aid/therapist/disgruntled teen.

There is no end of love for our wonderful mod at the Kurtofsky Big Bang. The art was done by . (Go to my livejournal to see the images vkdemon . livejournal . com / 12013 . html ) traciamc was my lovely wonderful beta. Now enjoy what I'd been working on for the whole hiatus.

Under the suggestion of a Very nice reviewer I'm cutting this up to post each part as it's own chapter for easier reading.

**Prologue**

If Dave Karofsky could cut out the pieces of himself that he hated, then his body would already lay divided under the mocking lights of the clear May sky. Right now he would lay, cowardice bleeding on the sidewalk, followed by his heart. Pride, as small and weak as it was, would be torn from him as well as his need to care about what people thought about him. He ran. He ran far as he could go. He ran from the burning eyes of his classmates, from the tormenting eyes of the man he'd watched for years. He'd watched Kurt Hummel take blow after blow, both physical and verbal, each one meant to rip him down. Kurt held his head high, he stayed strong. Even as they placed that Prom Queen crown on his head, Kurt, through all the pain and public humiliation, he stayed strong. And what did Dave do?

The strong arms punched into the ground as the broad body sunk into it. The scepter in his hand bent under the force, the metal twisting. His tux jacket was pulled tight across his huge shoulders. He ran. He left Kurt, tiny, thin, physically defenseless Kurt, to face the school filled with hate - alone. Of course, Kurt would be fine. He always was. No one could bring him down, but... Dave ran away. He'd let Kurt down, he'd let himself down. He was... worthless.

He wasn't good enough to be a jock. He tried to blend in, to be one of the guys. He'd always been a big kid, teased, tortured, called fat. When his father first gave him his hockey skates and put him on the ice, he found he could fly. It was the only time he felt graceful, powerful, like he could do anything. A shuddering gasp ripped from him. On that ice, he knew that life was going to get better. On that ice, he was just Dave, hockey player. He was one of the guys, and could joke and laugh and get pizza afterward, and watch sports with his father. His life was good and simple. But that was a lie now. Back then, there hadn't been Kurt, there hadn't been this overwhelming need to touch him, to hurt him. He just wanted Kurt to disappear so he could shut off the screaming desires in his head.

He had hurt Kurt so many times, his thin body falling to the ground under that terrible sound of the locker door and flesh crashing together, all the want and need and hate. He hated himself, he always hated himself. Every time Kurt's body crashed into the unyielding surface, he felt himself echoing that pain. For every painful thing he inflicted on him, he inflicted one on himself. In practice, he'd tackle and fight and crash until the bruises turned black. He would stare at his nakedness in the mirror, seeing the dark lines across his shoulders and chest from the padding digging in, protecting him as he slammed himself into the other men. He wished they would go deeper, make a permanent mark. He'd have something to show then, something more to show the world that he wanted to cut the part that didn't fit out of him. If he knew which sliver of himself contained the cloying need to touch Kurt's soft flesh, which part made him stand by the choir room and listen to his angelic voice, which part made him practice love songs alone in his room, he would rip it out this instant.

Coldly, in the evening air, he laughed at himself. How stupid. He was one person, he could not cut and dice himself into different pieces. He was only one flesh and mind. Dave shook his head over the illogical nature of it all. He had made his bed of shame and hatred. He'd proven himself to be a coward on that stage. It was his only chance to sweep away the past and make it all up to Kurt. Logically, this was the moment. The school had now brought Kurt down as low as they could, and by one simple sacrifice, Dave could have raised him back up. But that voice inside his head that screamed this was wrong, that everyone would know, that whimpered that everyone would hate him, filled his ears and sent him running.

He should disappear, just leave before everyone finds out. Soon enough, someone would figure out he was gay, Santana already had. It was only a matter of time. It might kill his mom if she found out. He was a failure, his family had taken to walking around him on eggshells. His mother had done so much stress baking, that his father looked like he'd put on another 20 pounds. It was better for her if he just disappeared, she wouldn't have to worry so much and there wouldn't be any more whispered conversations at the bottom of the stairs about him. She and Dad would probably be happier without him, they could have time together without his fat awkward ass sitting at the table pointedly trying to avoid conversation.

His dad was always trying to recapture what they'd had as kids. Last weekend was camping... that was actually fun. They had gone fishing up at Lake Superior and had actually spent a long time just being. He sat next to his dad, listening to the water against the side of the boat, the gentle rustling of the breeze, and wondered why life just couldn't be simple like this all the time. It had been wonderful, but then, as they grilled the caught fish, his dad had started asking him questions. He asked about school, about Santana, about how football was, about the Bully-whips, and all Dave could do was give one-word answers. He knew his dad was frustrated with him, he knew that he was trying to help, but what was he supposed to say? School was good, except for the fact that he had to try so hard not to seem smart, forcing him to hide his calculus homework from the team, or they'd start razzing on him. Football didn't suck as much now that McKinley had won the championship. Oh, except for the fact that singing and dancing makes everyone call you a fag. His girlfriend was all up on another girl, and it's supposed to be a porno fantasy to have a lesbo girlfriend, except he doesn't think her making out with chicks is sexy at all. Being a part of the Bully-Whips was nice, it made him feel good to stop bad things from happening, except sometimes right after he stopped them, he had to run to the bathroom and throw up because he felt all the old crap come up, and he knew he would never be a good enough person. That walking Kurt to class was heaven and hell, because now Kurt talks to him like a human being but he doesn't know how to handle it without sobbing or trying to kiss him again. Really, what was he supposed to say? In the end, he said almost nothing, and he could feel his father's disappointed gaze. Dad would definitely be better off not having to deal with his disappointment of a son.

Dave panted, his running took him far from the Prom, far from McKinley and out into the more open fields. He knew where he was, and a bitter laugh rolled out of him. This was the place where he and Azimio used to ride on their bikes to. It was always quiet and had the best views. There was a set of train tracks and a line of fences that kept the cows from Mr. Mitchel's plot apart from the train. Not too long beyond that was where his babushka, grandma, lived. He smiled sadly, thinking of her. She wasn't from Russia, but her mother was, and she'd been raised with a lot of the same ideals. When other kids had stories of Cinderella, he was listening to the terrifying Baba Yaga, the Dead Princess, and The Snow Maiden. He would listen as the tale would come in accented English. She believed in magic and curses, and he'd taken a lot of it into himself.

Babushka would hate him moping like this. She talked about seeing his marriage and passing down all of her recipes to his wife. He didn't want her to be disappointed in him. He was never going to have a wife, never going to pass down his name. He didn't want her to know what he was, she would be heartbroken and it would all be his fault. It was better this way, to never disappoint her. He didn't think she would be able to handle him being gay, being alone, because no man would ever want a guy like him. No, if he disappeared, she would be happier. She always said she worried. There would be no worrying over him.

At least he knew the school wouldn't worry if he disappeared, no one cared. In fact, he was sure it would be a relief. Most of the students still feared him, even with starting the Bully-whips.

Dave jumped into action. He had to resolve this! So, he was horrible and everyone would be better off without him. It was time to fix it – for good. He walked, knowing exactly where he was going. He and Azimio used to squish pennies on the train track and hope the engineer would pull the horn for them. He walked onto the thin metal rail, smiling as he remembered he and Zimi walking on the rails. Azimio was always a klutz, falling off before the count of ten. Dave could walk for hours if he wanted to, always light on his feet despite being chubby. He smiled as the tears ran down his face. Those days were happier, better. The only concerns were whose house they were eating at, and who got to be the green Power Ranger.

A horn sounded in the distance and he stilled on the rail. He looked down the track, seeing no train. He stood still as death, assuming the train was coming from the other direction on the track. His eyes closed, heavy tears trailing down his cheeks. His whole life had come down to this moment. He was doing it for everyone who would be better off without him: his parents wouldn't have a gay son, the school wouldn't have a bully, his babushka wouldn't have a disappointment as a grandson. He began to sing in a wavering tremble. It was a song his grandmother used to sing to him.

Spi mladyenets, moi prekrasný,/Sleep, good boy, my beautiful,

bayushki bayu,/bayushki bayu,

tikho smotrit myesyats yasný/quietly the moon is looking

f kolýbyel tvayu/into your cradle.

Stanu skazývat' ya skazki,/I will tell you fairy tales

pyesenki spayu,/and sing you little songs,

tý-zh dremli, zakrývshi glazki,/but you must slumber, with your little eyes closed,

bayushki bayu./bayushki bayu.

Sim uznayesh, budit vremya,/The time will come, then you will learn

branoye zhityo,/the pugnacious life,

smyelo vdyenish nogu f stremya/boldly you'll stem your foot into the stirrup

i vazmyosh ruzhyo./and take the gun.

As he sang the third verse, he could hear his Russian grandmother's voice singing with him. The English translation never made sense until now. It was a song sung by a mother telling her son that one day he would go off to war. It was always sad, even as it was beautiful. He could hear his Grandmother's slightly raspy old Russian. She would touch his cheeks and hold him as he drifted off, and call him Miska, little bear. What were the English lyrics again? He asked her what it meant once. It was the sorrow of a mother watching her son grow into a warrior, and her prayer that he be safe as he goes off to fight, and to prepare him for the hard fight ahead. He should be in pain shouldn't he? The train should have hit him by now and he should... Everything when dark... the voice still sang.

Ya sedeltse boyevoye/The saddle-cloth for your battle horse

sholkom razoshyu./I will sew you from silk

Spi, ditya mayo radnoye,/Sleep now, my dear little child,

bayushki bayu/bayushki bayu.

Bogatýr tý budish s vidu/You will look like a hero

i kazak dushoi./and be a cossack deep in your heart.

Pravazhat' tibya ya výdu,/I will hurry to accompany you,

tý makhnyosh rukoi./you will just wave your hand.

Skolko gorkikh slyoz ukradkoi/How many secret bitter tears

ya f tu notsh pralyu!/will I shed that night!

Spi, moi angel, tikho, sladko,/Sleep, my angel, calmly, sweetly,

bayushki bayu./bayushki bayu.

Stanu ya toskoi tomit'sya,/I will die from longing,

byesutyeshno zhdat',/I will wait inconsolably,

stanu tselý dyen' molit'sya,/I will pray the whole day long,

po notsham gadat'/and at night I'll tell fortunes.

Stanu dumat', shto skutshayesh/I will think that you are in trouble

tý f tshuzhom krayu./far away in a foreign land.

Spi-zh, paka zabot nye znayesh,/Sleep now, as long as you don't know sorrows,

bayushki bayu./bayushki bayu.

Dam tibye ya na darogu/I will give you on your way

obrazok svyatoi,/a small holy icon,

tý yevo, molyasya bogu,/and when you pray to God, you'll

stav pyered saboi./put it right in front of you.

Da, gotovyas v boi apasný,/When preparing yourself for the dangerous fight

pomni mat' svayu/please remember your mother.

Spi, mladyenets, moi prekrasný,/Sleep, good boy, my beautiful,

bayushki bayu./bayushki bayu.

**Part 1**

Kurt Hummel often wondered why his life had to be so different from everyone else's. No one else was used to seeing their father shake his head like Kurt was speaking a foreign language when his son talked about why the Milan fashion week was vastly superior to New York Fashion week. No one else had to listen to the subtle accusations of his sexuality being some sort of failing of his raising, or proof of him being the spawn of the devil. No one else had to come to school on the Sunday morning after prom to replace the clothing in their locker in order to always have at least 2 spare outfits, given the consistency and frequency of slushie facials.

Kurt shut his locker, the fresh set of pale green skinny jeans paired with his vest and scarf combination would allow him to pull off a forest nymph persona should the bullies decide that they wished to assault him with the rainbow. His locker snapped shut twice, or at least it had made two bangs... He turned, staring at the closed metal door. He blinked, tilting his head to the side. He'd heard two metallic clangs instead of one. He turned, hearing the sound again, realizing it did not come from his locker, but down the hall.

That sound could be anything: an early morning janitor, Coach Beiste doing morning inventory, another crash. Or someone could be stuck in a locker desperately trying to get themselves out. It had happened to him twice. This sympathetic shared experience pressed his legs into action, sending him running down the hall and bursting into the door of the boy's locker room. He barely avoided crashing face first into the solid mass of chest that was Dave Karofsky. For once, the man's face was calm, without anger or fear or frustration. It was tranquil, like nothing in the world would bother him. It was creepy.

"What are you doing in here?"

"Hiding." The snarling voice did not come from the eerie, calm Karofsky in front of him. It certainly sounded like the Karofsky he knew. He dared to sidestep and was suddenly attempting to wrap his head around a Karofsky with his fist sunk deep into the bent door of one highly abused metal locker. "Go away, Hummel!" that snarling Dave shouted, as he pulled his hand out of the door of the locker, knuckles bloody from the multiple attempts at beating the barely yielding surface into submission. Wait... How did Dave suddenly get half-way across the room?

Kurt tuned to the spot where he nearly ran into Dave and yep... there he was, face calm... and he was also slamming his fist into the locker about 15 feet to Kurt's left. There were two identical Dave Karofskys in the locker room, both watching him. Kurt had barely had a chance to look back at the calm Dave in utter confusion before there was a voice that came from an utterly new direction. "Hummel? Kurt!" His voice sounded... like Dave Karofsky, but well, he wasn't quite sure how to put it. Happy? Not like a 'look an extra piece of pie' sort of happy, but a 'you just won the lottery and an all-expenses paid trip to every major league game ever' sort of happy. This happy voice kept repeating his name and Kurt briefly wondered if Karofsky was about to burst into a rendition of ''Maria" from West Side Story. His tone was appropriate. Kurt didn't realize how true that was until warm chapped lips were on his and his body was pressed tight to the broad chest of Dave Karofsky the third... one of many it seemed. Kurt squeaked and pushed at the man's shoulders to get him off. He didn't move back. Karofsky's huge arms engulfed his thin body, one broad hand at the small of his back, the other cupping his neck and cheek in his warm palm. Kurt panicked, the heels of his hands driving into Dave's shoulders digging his perfectly manicured nails into the flesh of Dave's trapezius muscle.

"Stop that you fucking faggot!" The gruff bark was followed by the Karofsky who had been kissing him like he needed his lips to breathe, being thrown with a painful crash over one of the bolted-to-the-floor benches. The huge man gave a pained groan as he was sprawled on the floor. Over him, matching hulking shoulders were tense, shoulders raised so his neck barely appeared under the collar of his bright Letterman jacket. The aggressor's fists were clenched so tight that his skin had turned ghostly.

Kurt was torn between gratitude for the hulking man and disgust over the horrific slur he had used. Kurt swiftly scrambled for his composure. With eyes closed, he took deep calming breaths, just like the relaxation techniques from that yoga tape he'd picked up from the swap meet. Okay he needed to calm the adrenaline and start trying to figure out what was happening. Slowly he opened his eyes.

He started to take in what his eyes told him. He had to suspend the confusion for a moment and just address the facts. The Karofsky who had assaulted his mouth was sitting on the floor with his back against the lockers, his eyes downcast. The one who'd saved Kurt from the lecherous advance was scowling, eyes darting around the room as if he expected to be attacked any second. He met Kurt's eyes for a brief moment and snarled toward him. The Karofsky who seemed eerily calm was still standing sentinel near the door, his expression unchanged, simply observing Kurt. Sitting on the opposite bench from the lecherous jock was another Karofsky. He seemed unaware of the tense atmosphere around him. In his hand was what looked like a sports Magazine. Okay. 1, 2, 3, 4... The door swung open as yet another of the massive jock walked in. Kurt was beginning to believe that door might be connected to some parallel dimension. This one started speaking.

"Alright, no one is at school yet so we need to start heading out of here double-time before anyone sees us. Coach Sylvester comes in on Sundays to booby-trap the bathrooms, so we need to move before she gets here," the newly entered Dave spoke with authority and a clear plan of action.

The stoic, calm Karofsky finally made an expression, one of clear superiority. "One flaw in that. We have been seen." His thick arm motioned to Kurt as he stood with his back to the wall.

"Christ, Hummel, it had to be you."

"Please tell me you're a quintuplet." It made a whole lot more sense then whatever his mind was currently supplying him.

"Your logic implies the current situation can be explained by rational means. I assure you it cannot," the calm Dave supplied with that same arrogance.

"Then what exactly is going on?" Kurt's voice bordered on tones only Dogs could hear,

"It seems I've been divided into," the calm one began again until the newest Karofsky cut him off. "No time. We are all Dave. We need to get out of here before someone follows us so we can hide. We'll talk there."

"No no no. Stop right there Karofsky. You are explaining to me what is going on right this instant. If this is a hallucination, I really need to know this instant so I can get myself to a poison control center to pump my stomach of whatever Puck spiked the punch with last night that is making me star in a bad "Multiplicity" remake."

"Sadly there is no Michael Keaton, nor is there a scientist to be blamed." The calm Karofsky provided, with what Kurt could only describe as a sardonic tone.

"Why are there so many of you, why are you here, what's going on, why did I have to find you?" All of the questions rushed out of Kurt at a pitch that was usually reserved for whistles and pre-pubescent girls.

"Try to breath deeply." The advice was unsolicited and unhelpful as Kurt went down into a could feel the high reedy sound of his constricting vocal cords. Oh look, a freak out. A full big trembling on the floor freak-out. Really, could anyone blame him? There were multitudes of identical hulking meat-head milling around him. He could hear the voices asking if he was alright, well one was giving a whining plaintive rendition of his name, another was informing him that hyperventilation was a natural response to an unexpected stressor, another growled about the 'pansy is freaking out like a girl' and the final deep voice cut through. "Kurt you need to calm or this won't get resolved. We need a plan. We need to hide. Can you help me...uh...us?"

"That is.. I... Karofsky... You're!" He was slowly regaining control of his vocal chords.

Kurt straightened, his spine pressing into place as he looked over each of the hulking jocks. There were 5 identical men before him, they were trapped and needed help. It there was one thing Kurt was good at beyond his impeccable fashion sense, it was handling stressful situations. He handled Dave in this same locker room calling him out on his jackass nature, he had handled the cold sneers of the school electing him Prom Queen. He'd handled being the only out gay boy he knew of for his entire high school life. He could handle this.

"Fine, follow me. My parents are gone for the week on their long belated honeymoon, and Finn's over at Puck's," Kurt offered as he darted into the hall. He looked both ways. "All clear."

It took only a short time before they reached the parking lot. He could instantly see why he hadn't noticed a second car in the lot. Dave's mid-sized Neon had been driven up over the curb nearly behind the gym. "I'm assuming one of you can drive your car, so let's split up between the two cars. You with the sports magazine, you who actually sounded smart, and you who protected me from whichever of you assaulted my mouth, come with me."

There was a tug on the leg of his skinny jeans. He looked down to a pair of worried hazel eyes and a chubby face of a child. "What about me?"

Six Karofskys, including a 6-year-old. Why me? Kurt mentally lamented. He motioned to his Navigator, and when half the Dave Karofskys were piled in, he headed out of the school parking lot and toward his house.

**Part 2**

Kurt thanked his luck and whatever possible deity may or may not exist, that his house was empty. He ushered the sizable Karofskys into his living room, and swiftly realized this was going to be an issue. He was already feeling claustrophobic with one Karofsky in his home, and with so many in such close proximity, he was verging on the edge of a panic attack. He took deep breaths and tried to keep himself calm. The men spread out throughout his living room, one of whom seemed to be eternally in a state of frustration and anger. That particular Dave pulled the drapes shut, suspiciously peeking out through them, making sure no one could see in. "I can't fucking believe I'm in a fag house."

"One more comment like that, and all of you will be kicked right back out to deal with whatever this is on your own," Kurt informed the homophobic bastard. He would not stand to be insulted in his own house. "I'm attempting to help you, so be grateful."

There was growling and fussing from the Karofsky, but no more words. He surveyed the various men. "So what happened?"

"I'm like this." Kurt watched as the Karofsky who had been giving orders earlier tried to answer Kurt. Shockingly there was no sarcasm in his voice. "I was out by the train tracts and woke up like this."

Kurt worried at his lip, feeling his headache starting to prick under his eyelids. "Eaten any mushrooms lately or followed any white rabbits?"

"This isn't a fucking joke Hummel!" Looked like the homophobe was opening his mouth again.

"I clearly understand that!" Kurt hissed at the antagonistic male. He was just going to call that one Homophobe or perhaps Asshole with a capital 'A'. He had nothing to offer but irritation, it seemed. "You must admit, this is all bizarre and I'm trying to help. Forgive me if sarcasm is my main coping mechanism to this kind of tension. You should be well aware of this by now."

The homophobe rolled his eyes and glared, finally silent under the onslaught of Kurt's words. This time, the most calm of them spoke, this one seemingly devoid of emotion. "Then we focus on fixing this? Perhaps this isn't a problem to be fixed. Why shouldn't we go on about our life?"

"I want my life back." Another Dave, Kurt thought by his wide-set feet and clearly dominate posture. This man was the incarnate of Dave's nickname for his fist, 'The Fury.' It had little to do with the jock's emotions and more to do with his in charge stance. "We need to fix this. If it can't be fixed, we need to choose which of us is real and the rest can leave." He was decisive, settling the situation with no room for argument. If this clone was indeed the personification of 'The Fury', that's exactly what Kurt would call him.

"But which one of us? How do you propose we determine who is 'real'? " The calm emotionless one responded as if posing a query as to the state of the weather. Kurt hated to admit it, but he had a point.

Kurt looked between 'The Fury' and the logical Dave. "There are differences between you two." Kurt rubbed his left temple, trying to think this through.

Logical Dave spoke again, "Are differences important? We may not be the same, but does that mean none of us are real?"

Kurt rubbed his temple harder. He was smart, he knew he was clever, more clever then most of the unwashed masses at McKinley, but this was frustrating the hell out of him. "What are the differences then? Alright David…" All of the Dave's turned their heads to Kurt. "All of you, go stand side by side and we will try to figure out the differences. Maybe that will give us some kind of clue as to what happened."

The grumbles of the Karofskys filled the room, as one by one they lined up, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the mantle. Kurt found one problem instantly. All 6, even the little child, were wearing the same ripped and dirtied dress shirt and black suit pants. He needed to both fix the horrendous fashion travesty of the men before him, and make sure that once they broke off again, he could once more identify them.

"Alright, which one of you was the one spouting homophobic slurs?" Kurt took a rainbow of felt-tip markets out of the junk drawer in the kitchen before returning.

The Karofsky who was hunching and baring his teeth at Kurt snarled, "Don't come near me faggot, I don't want to catch the gay."

With an evil smile he pulled out a purple felt-tip pen and marked the word HULK on the top of his right hand. "Now I know which one of you to kick out of the house."

"Bite me, fairy." Kurt knew his mark had been correct. This one was all smash and no smarts.

"Don't say that to him!" This Dave glared at Hulk and then looked at Kurt. A bright blush bloomed over his cheeks as Kurt's eyes turned to him.

"Who would you be?" Kurt mused to himself, not expecting any part of Dave Karofsky to defend him.

"Dave..." The jock whispered gently. He reached out his hand, but before Kurt could mark it, it darted to Kurt's cheek. For the second time in less than so many hours, he was kissed by the former bully, need and passion sizzling over his senses. The warm chapped lips parting over his, and a hot tongue licking at the seam of Kurt's mouth.

Kurt's hands flew up, pushing the other man off him even as he tried to follow and keep the kiss connected. Once Kurt was free he locked a vicious glare onto the overly amorous Dave. "Do not touch me like that again! You have no right to!"

The lusty Dave flinched away from Kurt, his eyes clouded. "But... "

"You have no right to attempt to place any part of yourself upon my person. I've had more than I ever wish to of you touching me!" He violently uncapped the bright red sharpie, avoiding touching Dave with anything but the tip of the marker. He made two strong lines, an L for Lust. L Dave smiled, it was a stupid happy smile. Briefly he wondered if the man's lust-addled brain even comprehended the concept that Kurt was labeling him after a deadly sin.

He moved on, the next Karofsky in the line was a child, about 6 years old with chubby cheeks and a wary look at Kurt. The worry from the earlier yelling painted on his lowered thin eyebrows. Seeing as there was only one Dave with a differing age he didn't need to mark the boy. He moved on.

A fly fishing magazine, suspiciously resembling the one his father left on the living room table this morning, obscured the face of the next Karofsky. "Have anything to say? Wish to kiss me or maul me, or otherwise offend my sensibilities?" Kurt's foot tapped rapidly.

"Nope." The man didn't even bother to stop reading the magazine.

"Nothing? No logical analysis, or argument?"

"Nope." A wide-mouth bass responded.

"Useless. You're just like my father and Finn with Sports Center. Utterly Useless"

"Dude you have Sports Center?" Kurt wrote in green 'Dude'.

The next he immediately recognized from his calm and calculating expression. Kurt looked him over, finding many of the differences were in stance. This Dave stood straight, making him seem almost two inches taller then Hulk who was hunching in a manner that Kurt was used to from Dave Karofsky. The calm Dave met his gaze easily, unafraid and unconcerned with the naming process.

"Am I to assume you are the part of Dave that gives him the ability to be in calculus?"

"That's a logical conjecture. I also know plenty about Chemistry, Logarithms, History of the First and Second World Wars as well as a respectable amount of knowledge on the Cold War and McCarthy Era politics."

"Okay. You're intelligent. Got it."

"I doubt you do Hummel. Intelligence is far more then just knowledge. If you wish to mark me in a similar manner, then simply calling me intelligent based on those factors implies a lack of understanding of what intelligence is. All of those things are knowledge. Knowledge is simply filling a vessel, that does not include having the ability of using that vessel to make sense or utilize that substance."

Kurt frowned, his brows knitting together. "Wait, you don't want to be called intelligent?"

"I have yet to prove intelligence. I have no wish to be mislabeled, Hummel."

"How about I just call you confusing?"

"That label is subjective to your current state. It relies on your view of me, and currently your confusion is likely from a lack of comprehension rather than some flaw in my telling of the situation. It's possible that the stress of attempting to integrate a new rule into your understanding as to how the world works has created a hindrance in your attempt to place labels upon my many selves. That in and of itself is also a dangerous fallacy"

"What is?"

"Your concept of labeling. You say that there are differences between us, yet your labeling so far seems to be completely subjective. So far you've assigned the label of hulk purely for the use of vulgar terms instead of more intelligent explanations."

"He called me a faggot!" Kurt screeched indignantly.

"How do you know we do not all call you that?"

"Clearly you haven't yet."

"Clearly his lack of control over his mouth is the true difference. You, by definition of your sexual orientation interplayed with the current culture, are a faggot."

"How dare y~"

"As am I. Does my willingness to use the term not make me applicable to the same label?" Logical Dave paused, a single perfectly curved eyebrow raising. "Well Hummel? Have I gone beyond your understanding? Is your container for knowledge filled to the brim unable to take more within? "

Kurt stared at the still talking man. His headache from the drive over expanded to a dull thudding in his temples. He tried to muddle through all of the information being thrown at him. Finally he came up with an answer. "Are you accusing me of stereotyping?"

"The Socratic method implies that I should let you work it out for yourself. Did you think you were immune to prejudice?"

"I am not prejudiced against anything but white after labor day. And you are not my teacher." Kurt took the hand violently, his thin fingers digging little pinpoints of pressure into the large hand. "Since you insist on somehow helping to educate me I'm putting that on you."

In black Kurt applied 'Prof', short for professor. The letters were thick, the end of each blotted with a larger stain as Kurt dug his frustration into the offending skin.

"I knew you had it in you."

"No more talking out of you." Condescending Bastard

"And now we get to see the stifling of the dissemination of information." Kurt pinned Prof with an almighty glare and the first hint of a smug smile appeared.

"You!" Kurt snapped to the final Karofsky. Standing side-by side with Prof, this Karofsky stood at the same height, spine straight and legs set solidly apart. He was watching Kurt with eyes that seemed to be taking in every detail. The main difference came in the squared shoulders and the alertness. He seemed ready to spring into action.

"Yes Kurt? We should be focusing on the issue. Go ahead and put whatever term you like, but we are wasting time." His voice was gruff, colored with worry. He knew this was the boy who'd been giving the orders back in the locker room.

"As you wish." Kurt marked in blue 'The Fury.'

The Fury looked down at his given title and a proud smile brought his face to change into one that Kurt would not be hard pressed to call attractive. Kurt turned away from the startling realization. This day was messing with his head.

"We must act. Prof, what are the facts so far?" The Fury took over the interrogation, stepping to the center of the room, much like a general addressing his troops.

"The basic rundown is this. I put on a crown. I stood on the train tracks. I sang in Russian. I woke, separated, laying on either side of the track. "

"That's not much to go on. You were... Wait, you were at prom last night just like I was. Why did you go to the train tracks?"

"Not everyone had a pretty little fag boyfriend to dance with," Hulk growled at Kurt from his position near the window. He glanced nervously outside again.

"You could have danced with me if you wanted."

"I'm no queer."

"I wanted to Kurt," L's sad hazel eyes looked up at him from where he'd sat on Kurt's couch. Kurt had to turn away from the intense longing he saw in that sad gaze.

"You didn't and that's all that matters." Kurt pressed his lips together, regretting bringing up that night. It was filled with humiliation for Kurt, Dave's cowardice was only the icing on the cake.

Dude had somehow wandered into the kitchen during all of the conversation and had returned with a 6-pack of beer, handing one out to each of the Karofskys. When the last was handed toward Kurt his nose wrinkled. "What's wrong? Not fancy enough?"

"I don't drink beer."

"Two for me then."

"Wait... there were six of those. And there are six of you."

"Jeez, Kurt," Dude chuckled, his head shaking as if to a particularly amusing joke, "I don't give beer to little kids. I have morals."

The countertenor placed the cold can of Bud Light on the table before another concern hit him. "Wait, wait, wait! You can't drink that many. My father will think I've become an alchie!"

"I don't think anyone could ever think Fancy would drink Bud Light. Shit tastes like crap." Hulk took a long drink as he grimaced it down.

"I don't drink alcohol."

"Good." The Fury had placed his unopened drink on the table next to Kurt's. "It dulls the senses and slows the mind. That's not useful. We need an action plan."

"Look Kar... Fury." Kurt had assigned the names he'd better use them. "I can't tell from such small details what happened or even how it could be possible. I don't think Russian singing is going to help us here. Can you remember anything else. Any of you?"

"They must have done this because of the prank." Hulk crushed the beer can in his hand, the liquid already gone. "The fucking crown! Someone found out about what...," his eyes went panicked, "what you did!" He snarled before L jumped to his feet.

"I kissed him! Don't you cheapen it!"

"He kissed me. I'm no queer!"

"I wanted to, he was beautiful. He never took your shit and he was beautiful."

"Fuck this shit. You need to go first. It's the perfect fucking opportunity. I can kill you now and they will never find out about the sick shit you want to do to Hummel. I never wanted any of it! I just want to...," Hulk's eyes darted to Kurt, his lip curled away from the counter tenor, "be normal."

"Having the ability to quote off the Mandelbrot set is hardly normal." Prof was slowly sipping his beer, his hazel eyes sharp and predatory. A shudder ran through Kurt, he knew that look, it was the one that simmered through the air every time Dave made a comment, each time he hissed some insult or barked some demeaning words.

"Maybe I should just off you, too. Less shit to hide."

"Yes without me you can go back to ramming your hands into locker doors and attempting to move beyond your pathetic lizard brain. Admirable."

"You fucking bastard!" Hulk lunged at Prof, his huge arms meaning to do damage.

Kurt jumped between them, trying to prevent the fight from destroying his living-room. The boy's locker-room still had a dent in Dave's locker from the kiss that had started it all. "I'll kill you." The memory of the hissed words rang through his ears as the clenched fist swung toward his face. There was nothing to stop this version of Dave Karofsky. This was the man who had wanted to hit him in the locker room, the one who had made him fear for his very life, the one who knew nothing but pain and hatred. Kurt was going to die. Why had he ever agreed to help?

A cry of pain rang out, shockingly it came from a deeper register then Kurt had ever been able to hit. The thick tanned arms enclosed around him, the pectoral muscles pressing into his shoulders as the meaty left arm cradled his head and the right was flung out. He was wrapped in powerful arms, thick rippling muscles and the overwhelming scent of Old Spice and man. Now he knew what Dave Karofsky smelled like and it certainly wasn't boy's locker-room.

These arms had to belong to The Fury. He was the leader, he wouldn't let Hulk and Prof fight each other would he? He wouldn't let Kurt get injured for trying to stop them right? He was safe because of The Fury... "I'll never let him hurt you. I swear Kurt. I never wanted to hurt you." L's softer tones cradled around him even as he grunted in pain from the strikes. Hulk hadn't slowed down his punches. Finally a barked order from The Fury later and Hulk was back to his corner, deep furrows marring his brow as his eyes never left Kurt.

The huge arms didn't let him go, as if he feared the fight would start again. The bored words of Prof floated down. "So much unnecessary emotion, really, why should any of them remain."

Kurt pushed L's arm away, scrambling out of the warm strong arms. L smiled sadly, but let him go without a fight. Kurt was sure he should have been concerned over the strikes L endured, but that was so far beyond his mind he couldn't deal with it. Dave was attacking him, belittling him, protecting him and reading his father's magazines, in Kurt's house, alone. Dave was split into pieces and somehow Kurt thought he could help? Ha! He'd clearly skipped right off the deep end. "I can't handle this. I can't handle this! Don't touch me!" He turned to Prof. "Don't talk to me! Just don't get near me!"

With that he ran down into his basement bedroom, leaving 5 Daves to stare in shock.

**Part 3**

Kurt screamed as he slammed the door to his huge closet. He had his laptop under one arm with his ear-buds hanging over his shoulder. He could not deal with one more manifestation of Dave! If it wasn't the panic, it was the screaming, if not screaming then bitter homophobic comments, if not comments and the coup-de-gras: the uselessness of the only intelligent one. He just wanted to do something very drastic, and as much as he'd love to put a bullet into them, he doubted it would make him feel better.

No, he needed peace and quiet, and since his room was the basement room, they were all hiding down there. His closet, however, had plenty of space. In fact, Rachel had called it a closet fit for a Queen. He had to agree. It was almost a full room in and of itself. He plugged his power brick into the wall and crossed his feet to lower himself to the ground. And then there was a sharp pain in his tush. "By Madonna's pointy bra, what in the...!"

"Noo! Don't sit on Ivan!" a very childish voice called out.

Kurt pulled the red Power Ranger from under his derriere, and realized that somehow this child had found the box of old toys that was buried in the back of his closet. He handed the plastic doll over to find a chubby little hand taking it and hugging it to his chest. Two huge hazel eyes looked up at him from his spot on the floor. The child was surrounded by the action figures, an obvious order to their placement. The boy was smiling hesitantly to Kurt.

"What's your name?" Kurt asked gently, the anger and frustration from before melting at the image of this adorable child. He couldn't be more than about 6-years-old with those adorable chubby cheeks.

"I'm David Leonid Karofsky." The boy enunciated each syllable with pride. "You can call me Davey-dear, that's what Momma calls me." The chubby little cheeks glowed brightly as he looked shyly toward Kurt.

"Alright Davey-dear. What's going on here?" He asked curiously at the set-up of the toys.

"Ivan is the priest. Skeletor and Nikolai are getting married because they kicked all the bad-guys' butts." The boy giggled and walked the green Power Ranger and the Skeletor figure that Kurt had once dipped in glue and then glitter, because he was not fashionable, up the red aisle that the little boy had made from one of Kurt's fallen ties. Thankfully, it was one his father had gotten him years ago that he'd turned away from in horror.

Kurt couldn't help but smile. Looks like he wasn't the only little boy who planned weddings. "So who's the best man?"

"Princy," the little one said, pointing to the My Little Pony that had a glued on crown. Kurt smirked. "They're gonna be happy forever AND be crime fighting superheroes!"

Kurt giggled at the adorable and very firm declaration. "I'm sure they will be." He watched as Davey-dear yawned. Kurt's laptop was forgotten to his side.

"Why don't you cuddle up here next to me?" Davey-dear jumped the short distance between them and landed in Kurt's lap. He snuggled against his thin chest, his ear pressed over Kurt's heart.

"You smell nice." The little one yawned

"Sleep now, Davey-dear." He wrapped both arms around Davey-dear and held the little bundle tight. So, there was one part of Karofsky that was worth trying to protect. Kurt fell asleep curled around the boy.

**Part 4**

Kurt didn't trust to shower with this many Dave Karofskys in the house, so his morning preparation time was cut in half. He needed to help Dave to become one again, and if in the process he could manage to cut out a few of the more frustrating and damaging aspects, then all the better. The first one to go would be Hulk, clearly this was the source of his horrible self-hate. The next would be Prof. He'd never expected Dave to be very intelligent anyway, he could do with losing the condescending nature. He had no doubt that this one was the source of all of his brilliant plans for the humiliation and belittling the glee club. He would even eliminate Dude because really, what gay man would want a man who was more interested in fly-fishing then fashion? Also L, he could do without his rapist tendencies... He could keep The Fury and Davey-dear. It was a perfect plan. Now all Kurt needed was an outfit to suit the situation.

"Okay." Kurt clapped his hands together to awaken and bring the scattered men to attention. Kurt stood in his room, searching out where each of them had managed to sleep for the night. His eyes headed to the bed, finding Prof sleeping there as if he owned the place. Kurt snarled, watching Prof rise to the clap, utterly at ease. Kurt glared, what right did he have to sleep there? Now his bed was going to smell like jock and day-old clothing. He considered commenting, but he could already hear the defense of 'it was the most logical place to sleep'. The less conversations with Prof, the better for Kurt's sanity and temper.

One of his pillows had been taken from the bed and was curled into the cuddling arms of a Dave that was blinking confusedly. An L marked hand rubbed into one hazel eye. Those eyes blinked before realizing who had woken him. A bright smile blasted Kurt, a joy glowed there that colored his mumbled greeting. "Mornin' Fancy."

Kurt's eyes went wide. L was using an insult? A slur that Dave had flung at him many times. Why in the world was L using a word that would degrade him? Unless it wasn't supposed to be an insult... a memory of Quinn affectionately calling Finn 'Meathead' swept through his head. OK, it was time for an abort button on that line of thought. This situation was awkward enough without knowing which of Dave's past insults were pet-names.

Kurt's eyes darted to where the Fury had been pacing the floor, already awake and dressed in what looked like a set of his father's sweatpants and an old shirt of Finn's. The sweatpants fit just fine, if they were a little short, and showed about 3 inches of The Fury's hairy calves. They were very well muscled calves.. must be hell to find boots that fit. The white shirt was meant for a much more compact jock. While the shoulders fit just fine, the material was pulling tight over his pecs and biceps, displaying all that hard-earned thick muscle for Kurt's eyes. It was all solid muscle, even the stomach, which, although not the cut abs of Sam, was tightly packed with shifting muscle. The Fury offered a simple nod which Kurt returned with a small tight smile. He doubted his brother and father would care about the pilfered clothing. It allowed Kurt to differentiate the leader of the hamhock band with ease.

Dude had taken up residence on Kurt's laptop and was currently surfing one of the 'Icanhazcheezeburger' web sites. It looked like FML. How oddly appropriate. Davey-dear seemed to be curled up to his side, falling back to sleep on the calmer Karofsky after Kurt had shooed him out of the closet in order to dress. The adorable child was in an outfit of Kurt's he'd worn when he was a few years older than Davey-dear. Kurt had found some basic black pants and a simple white shirt was covered by a pastel vest with a tiny green bow right under the round cheeked boy's chin. Kurt thought he looked adorable. Dude was in his simple white wife-beater and what looked like green and purple vertical lines. his head turned toward Kurt and his mouth opened. "Hey is there anything but those crappy health food bars in this place?" Kurt's eyes were instantly drawn to the stack of 15 or so wrappers that had once contained Kurt's high energy health bars for when he had no time to cook during one of his 'extreme fashion' projects.

"Let me go upstairs and make sure no one has arrived home unexpectedly and I can make a big batch of pancakes."

"Thanks, Dude."

"Don't call me that." Kurt sighed, finding he didn't have the energy for his temper. He had to just power through the situation and hopefully come out with a better Dave overall. "Dave." At least it was easy to get all of their attention. "Today we are going to resolve this, before my father and new mother return home, and hopefully before Finn. The boy stays awake playing Halo until dark:30 in the morning so he shouldn't make an appearance until at the earliest, noon. I'm going to make food and you will come upstairs to eat. I want no lip and no back talk. I am fixing you, David Karofsky, end of story." Six sets of eyes watched as the boy strutted right up the stairs.

Kurt thought he heard a faint appreciative 'damn' behind him and he can't help but exaggerate his hip sway.


	2. Chapter 1

**Part 1**

Kurt Hummel often wondered why his life had to be so different from everyone else's. No one else was used to seeing their father shake his head like Kurt was speaking a foreign language when his son talked about why the Milan fashion week was vastly superior to New York Fashion week. No one else had to listen to the subtle accusations of his sexuality being some sort of failing of his raising, or proof of him being the spawn of the devil. No one else had to come to school on the Sunday morning after prom to replace the clothing in their locker in order to always have at least 2 spare outfits, given the consistency and frequency of slushie facials.

Kurt shut his locker, the fresh set of pale green skinny jeans paired with his vest and scarf combination would allow him to pull off a forest nymph persona should the bullies decide that they wished to assault him with the rainbow. His locker snapped shut twice, or at least it had made two bangs... He turned, staring at the closed metal door. He blinked, tilting his head to the side. He'd heard two metallic clangs instead of one. He turned, hearing the sound again, realizing it did not come from his locker, but down the hall.

That sound could be anything: an early morning janitor, Coach Beiste doing morning inventory, another crash. Or someone could be stuck in a locker desperately trying to get themselves out. It had happened to him twice. This sympathetic shared experience pressed his legs into action, sending him running down the hall and bursting into the door of the boy's locker room. He barely avoided crashing face first into the solid mass of chest that was Dave Karofsky. For once, the man's face was calm, without anger or fear or frustration. It was tranquil, like nothing in the world would bother him. It was creepy.

"What are you doing in here?"

"Hiding." The snarling voice did not come from the eerie, calm Karofsky in front of him. It certainly sounded like the Karofsky he knew. He dared to sidestep and was suddenly attempting to wrap his head around a Karofsky with his fist sunk deep into the bent door of one highly abused metal locker. "Go away, Hummel!" that snarling Dave shouted, as he pulled his hand out of the door of the locker, knuckles bloody from the multiple attempts at beating the barely yielding surface into submission. Wait... How did Dave suddenly get half-way across the room?

Kurt tuned to the spot where he nearly ran into Dave and yep... there he was, face calm... and he was also slamming his fist into the locker about 15 feet to Kurt's left. There were two identical Dave Karofskys in the locker room, both watching him. Kurt had barely had a chance to look back at the calm Dave in utter confusion before there was a voice that came from an utterly new direction. "Hummel? Kurt!" His voice sounded... like Dave Karofsky, but well, he wasn't quite sure how to put it. Happy? Not like a 'look an extra piece of pie' sort of happy, but a 'you just won the lottery and an all-expenses paid trip to every major league game ever' sort of happy. This happy voice kept repeating his name and Kurt briefly wondered if Karofsky was about to burst into a rendition of ''Maria" from West Side Story. His tone was appropriate. Kurt didn't realize how true that was until warm chapped lips were on his and his body was pressed tight to the broad chest of Dave Karofsky the third... one of many it seemed. Kurt squeaked and pushed at the man's shoulders to get him off. He didn't move back. Karofsky's huge arms engulfed his thin body, one broad hand at the small of his back, the other cupping his neck and cheek in his warm palm. Kurt panicked, the heels of his hands driving into Dave's shoulders digging his perfectly manicured nails into the flesh of Dave's trapezius muscle.

"Stop that you fucking faggot!" The gruff bark was followed by the Karofsky who had been kissing him like he needed his lips to breathe, being thrown with a painful crash over one of the bolted-to-the-floor benches. The huge man gave a pained groan as he was sprawled on the floor. Over him, matching hulking shoulders were tense, shoulders raised so his neck barely appeared under the collar of his bright Letterman jacket. The aggressor's fists were clenched so tight that his skin had turned ghostly.

Kurt was torn between gratitude for the hulking man and disgust over the horrific slur he had used. Kurt swiftly scrambled for his composure. With eyes closed, he took deep calming breaths, just like the relaxation techniques from that yoga tape he'd picked up from the swap meet. Okay he needed to calm the adrenaline and start trying to figure out what was happening. Slowly he opened his eyes.

He started to take in what his eyes told him. He had to suspend the confusion for a moment and just address the facts. The Karofsky who had assaulted his mouth was sitting on the floor with his back against the lockers, his eyes downcast. The one who'd saved Kurt from the lecherous advance was scowling, eyes darting around the room as if he expected to be attacked any second. He met Kurt's eyes for a brief moment and snarled toward him. The Karofsky who seemed eerily calm was still standing sentinel near the door, his expression unchanged, simply observing Kurt. Sitting on the opposite bench from the lecherous jock was another Karofsky. He seemed unaware of the tense atmosphere around him. In his hand was what looked like a sports Magazine. Okay. 1, 2, 3, 4... The door swung open as yet another of the massive jock walked in. Kurt was beginning to believe that door might be connected to some parallel dimension. This one started speaking.

"Alright, no one is at school yet so we need to start heading out of here double-time before anyone sees us. Coach Sylvester comes in on Sundays to booby-trap the bathrooms, so we need to move before she gets here," the newly entered Dave spoke with authority and a clear plan of action.

The stoic, calm Karofsky finally made an expression, one of clear superiority. "One flaw in that. We have been seen." His thick arm motioned to Kurt as he stood with his back to the wall.

"Christ, Hummel, it had to be you."

"Please tell me you're a quintuplet." It made a whole lot more sense then whatever his mind was currently supplying him.

"Your logic implies the current situation can be explained by rational means. I assure you it cannot," the calm Dave supplied with that same arrogance.

"Then what exactly is going on?" Kurt's voice bordered on tones only Dogs could hear,

"It seems I've been divided into," the calm one began again until the newest Karofsky cut him off. "No time. We are all Dave. We need to get out of here before someone follows us so we can hide. We'll talk there."

"No no no. Stop right there Karofsky. You are explaining to me what is going on right this instant. If this is a hallucination, I really need to know this instant so I can get myself to a poison control center to pump my stomach of whatever Puck spiked the punch with last night that is making me star in a bad "Multiplicity" remake."

"Sadly there is no Michael Keaton, nor is there a scientist to be blamed." The calm Karofsky provided, with what Kurt could only describe as a sardonic tone.

"Why are there so many of you, why are you here, what's going on, why did I have to find you?" All of the questions rushed out of Kurt at a pitch that was usually reserved for whistles and pre-pubescent girls.

"Try to breath deeply." The advice was unsolicited and unhelpful as Kurt went down into a could feel the high reedy sound of his constricting vocal cords. Oh look, a freak out. A full big trembling on the floor freak-out. Really, could anyone blame him? There were multitudes of identical hulking meat-head milling around him. He could hear the voices asking if he was alright, well one was giving a whining plaintive rendition of his name, another was informing him that hyperventilation was a natural response to an unexpected stressor, another growled about the 'pansy is freaking out like a girl' and the final deep voice cut through. "Kurt you need to calm or this won't get resolved. We need a plan. We need to hide. Can you help me...uh...us?"

"That is.. I... Karofsky... You're!" He was slowly regaining control of his vocal chords.

Kurt straightened, his spine pressing into place as he looked over each of the hulking jocks. There were 5 identical men before him, they were trapped and needed help. It there was one thing Kurt was good at beyond his impeccable fashion sense, it was handling stressful situations. He handled Dave in this same locker room calling him out on his jackass nature, he had handled the cold sneers of the school electing him Prom Queen. He'd handled being the only out gay boy he knew of for his entire high school life. He could handle this.

"Fine, follow me. My parents are gone for the week on their long belated honeymoon, and Finn's over at Puck's," Kurt offered as he darted into the hall. He looked both ways. "All clear."

It took only a short time before they reached the parking lot. He could instantly see why he hadn't noticed a second car in the lot. Dave's mid-sized Neon had been driven up over the curb nearly behind the gym. "I'm assuming one of you can drive your car, so let's split up between the two cars. You with the sports magazine, you who actually sounded smart, and you who protected me from whichever of you assaulted my mouth, come with me."

There was a tug on the leg of his skinny jeans. He looked down to a pair of worried hazel eyes and a chubby face of a child. "What about me?"

Six Karofskys, including a 6-year-old. Why me? Kurt mentally lamented. He motioned to his Navigator, and when half the Dave Karofskys were piled in, he headed out of the school parking lot and toward his house.


	3. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

Kurt thanked his luck and whatever possible deity may or may not exist, that his house was empty. He ushered the sizable Karofskys into his living room, and swiftly realized this was going to be an issue. He was already feeling claustrophobic with one Karofsky in his home, and with so many in such close proximity, he was verging on the edge of a panic attack. He took deep breaths and tried to keep himself calm. The men spread out throughout his living room, one of whom seemed to be eternally in a state of frustration and anger. That particular Dave pulled the drapes shut, suspiciously peeking out through them, making sure no one could see in. "I can't fucking believe I'm in a fag house."

"One more comment like that, and all of you will be kicked right back out to deal with whatever this is on your own," Kurt informed the homophobic bastard. He would not stand to be insulted in his own house. "I'm attempting to help you, so be grateful."

There was growling and fussing from the Karofsky, but no more words. He surveyed the various men. "So what happened?"

"I'm like this." Kurt watched as the Karofsky who had been giving orders earlier tried to answer Kurt. Shockingly there was no sarcasm in his voice. "I was out by the train tracts and woke up like this."

Kurt worried at his lip, feeling his headache starting to prick under his eyelids. "Eaten any mushrooms lately or followed any white rabbits?"

"This isn't a fucking joke Hummel!" Looked like the homophobe was opening his mouth again.

"I clearly understand that!" Kurt hissed at the antagonistic male. He was just going to call that one Homophobe or perhaps Asshole with a capital 'A'. He had nothing to offer but irritation, it seemed. "You must admit, this is all bizarre and I'm trying to help. Forgive me if sarcasm is my main coping mechanism to this kind of tension. You should be well aware of this by now."

The homophobe rolled his eyes and glared, finally silent under the onslaught of Kurt's words. This time, the most calm of them spoke, this one seemingly devoid of emotion. "Then we focus on fixing this? Perhaps this isn't a problem to be fixed. Why shouldn't we go on about our life?"

"I want my life back." Another Dave, Kurt thought by his wide-set feet and clearly dominate posture. This man was the incarnate of Dave's nickname for his fist, 'The Fury.' It had little to do with the jock's emotions and more to do with his in charge stance. "We need to fix this. If it can't be fixed, we need to choose which of us is real and the rest can leave." He was decisive, settling the situation with no room for argument. If this clone was indeed the personification of 'The Fury', that's exactly what Kurt would call him.

"But which one of us? How do you propose we determine who is 'real'? " The calm emotionless one responded as if posing a query as to the state of the weather. Kurt hated to admit it, but he had a point.

Kurt looked between 'The Fury' and the logical Dave. "There are differences between you two." Kurt rubbed his left temple, trying to think this through.

Logical Dave spoke again, "Are differences important? We may not be the same, but does that mean none of us are real?"

Kurt rubbed his temple harder. He was smart, he knew he was clever, more clever then most of the unwashed masses at McKinley, but this was frustrating the hell out of him. "What are the differences then? Alright David…" All of the Dave's turned their heads to Kurt. "All of you, go stand side by side and we will try to figure out the differences. Maybe that will give us some kind of clue as to what happened."

The grumbles of the Karofskys filled the room, as one by one they lined up, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the mantle. Kurt found one problem instantly. All 6, even the little child, were wearing the same ripped and dirtied dress shirt and black suit pants. He needed to both fix the horrendous fashion travesty of the men before him, and make sure that once they broke off again, he could once more identify them.

"Alright, which one of you was the one spouting homophobic slurs?" Kurt took a rainbow of felt-tip markets out of the junk drawer in the kitchen before returning.

The Karofsky who was hunching and baring his teeth at Kurt snarled, "Don't come near me faggot, I don't want to catch the gay."

With an evil smile he pulled out a purple felt-tip pen and marked the word HULK on the top of his right hand. "Now I know which one of you to kick out of the house."

"Bite me, fairy." Kurt knew his mark had been correct. This one was all smash and no smarts.

"Don't say that to him!" This Dave glared at Hulk and then looked at Kurt. A bright blush bloomed over his cheeks as Kurt's eyes turned to him.

"Who would you be?" Kurt mused to himself, not expecting any part of Dave Karofsky to defend him.

"Dave..." The jock whispered gently. He reached out his hand, but before Kurt could mark it, it darted to Kurt's cheek. For the second time in less than so many hours, he was kissed by the former bully, need and passion sizzling over his senses. The warm chapped lips parting over his, and a hot tongue licking at the seam of Kurt's mouth.

Kurt's hands flew up, pushing the other man off him even as he tried to follow and keep the kiss connected. Once Kurt was free he locked a vicious glare onto the overly amorous Dave. "Do not touch me like that again! You have no right to!"

The lusty Dave flinched away from Kurt, his eyes clouded. "But... "

"You have no right to attempt to place any part of yourself upon my person. I've had more than I ever wish to of you touching me!" He violently uncapped the bright red sharpie, avoiding touching Dave with anything but the tip of the marker. He made two strong lines, an L for Lust. L Dave smiled, it was a stupid happy smile. Briefly he wondered if the man's lust-addled brain even comprehended the concept that Kurt was labeling him after a deadly sin.

He moved on, the next Karofsky in the line was a child, about 6 years old with chubby cheeks and a wary look at Kurt. The worry from the earlier yelling painted on his lowered thin eyebrows. Seeing as there was only one Dave with a differing age he didn't need to mark the boy. He moved on.

A fly fishing magazine, suspiciously resembling the one his father left on the living room table this morning, obscured the face of the next Karofsky. "Have anything to say? Wish to kiss me or maul me, or otherwise offend my sensibilities?" Kurt's foot tapped rapidly.

"Nope." The man didn't even bother to stop reading the magazine.

"Nothing? No logical analysis, or argument?"

"Nope." A wide-mouth bass responded.

"Useless. You're just like my father and Finn with Sports Center. Utterly Useless"

"Dude you have Sports Center?" Kurt wrote in green 'Dude'.

The next he immediately recognized from his calm and calculating expression. Kurt looked him over, finding many of the differences were in stance. This Dave stood straight, making him seem almost two inches taller then Hulk who was hunching in a manner that Kurt was used to from Dave Karofsky. The calm Dave met his gaze easily, unafraid and unconcerned with the naming process.

"Am I to assume you are the part of Dave that gives him the ability to be in calculus?"

"That's a logical conjecture. I also know plenty about Chemistry, Logarithms, History of the First and Second World Wars as well as a respectable amount of knowledge on the Cold War and McCarthy Era politics."

"Okay. You're intelligent. Got it."

"I doubt you do Hummel. Intelligence is far more then just knowledge. If you wish to mark me in a similar manner, then simply calling me intelligent based on those factors implies a lack of understanding of what intelligence is. All of those things are knowledge. Knowledge is simply filling a vessel, that does not include having the ability of using that vessel to make sense or utilize that substance."

Kurt frowned, his brows knitting together. "Wait, you don't want to be called intelligent?"

"I have yet to prove intelligence. I have no wish to be mislabeled, Hummel."

"How about I just call you confusing?"

"That label is subjective to your current state. It relies on your view of me, and currently your confusion is likely from a lack of comprehension rather than some flaw in my telling of the situation. It's possible that the stress of attempting to integrate a new rule into your understanding as to how the world works has created a hindrance in your attempt to place labels upon my many selves. That in and of itself is also a dangerous fallacy"

"What is?"

"Your concept of labeling. You say that there are differences between us, yet your labeling so far seems to be completely subjective. So far you've assigned the label of hulk purely for the use of vulgar terms instead of more intelligent explanations."

"He called me a faggot!" Kurt screeched indignantly.

"How do you know we do not all call you that?"

"Clearly you haven't yet."

"Clearly his lack of control over his mouth is the true difference. You, by definition of your sexual orientation interplayed with the current culture, are a faggot."

"How dare y~"

"As am I. Does my willingness to use the term not make me applicable to the same label?" Logical Dave paused, a single perfectly curved eyebrow raising. "Well Hummel? Have I gone beyond your understanding? Is your container for knowledge filled to the brim unable to take more within? "

Kurt stared at the still talking man. His headache from the drive over expanded to a dull thudding in his temples. He tried to muddle through all of the information being thrown at him. Finally he came up with an answer. "Are you accusing me of stereotyping?"

"The Socratic method implies that I should let you work it out for yourself. Did you think you were immune to prejudice?"

"I am not prejudiced against anything but white after labor day. And you are not my teacher." Kurt took the hand violently, his thin fingers digging little pinpoints of pressure into the large hand. "Since you insist on somehow helping to educate me I'm putting that on you."

In black Kurt applied 'Prof', short for professor. The letters were thick, the end of each blotted with a larger stain as Kurt dug his frustration into the offending skin.

"I knew you had it in you."

"No more talking out of you." Condescending Bastard

"And now we get to see the stifling of the dissemination of information." Kurt pinned Prof with an almighty glare and the first hint of a smug smile appeared.

"You!" Kurt snapped to the final Karofsky. Standing side-by side with Prof, this Karofsky stood at the same height, spine straight and legs set solidly apart. He was watching Kurt with eyes that seemed to be taking in every detail. The main difference came in the squared shoulders and the alertness. He seemed ready to spring into action.

"Yes Kurt? We should be focusing on the issue. Go ahead and put whatever term you like, but we are wasting time." His voice was gruff, colored with worry. He knew this was the boy who'd been giving the orders back in the locker room.

"As you wish." Kurt marked in blue 'The Fury.'

The Fury looked down at his given title and a proud smile brought his face to change into one that Kurt would not be hard pressed to call attractive. Kurt turned away from the startling realization. This day was messing with his head.

"We must act. Prof, what are the facts so far?" The Fury took over the interrogation, stepping to the center of the room, much like a general addressing his troops.

"The basic rundown is this. I put on a crown. I stood on the train tracks. I sang in Russian. I woke, separated, laying on either side of the track. "

"That's not much to go on. You were... Wait, you were at prom last night just like I was. Why did you go to the train tracks?"

"Not everyone had a pretty little fag boyfriend to dance with," Hulk growled at Kurt from his position near the window. He glanced nervously outside again.

"You could have danced with me if you wanted."

"I'm no queer."

"I wanted to Kurt," L's sad hazel eyes looked up at him from where he'd sat on Kurt's couch. Kurt had to turn away from the intense longing he saw in that sad gaze.

"You didn't and that's all that matters." Kurt pressed his lips together, regretting bringing up that night. It was filled with humiliation for Kurt, Dave's cowardice was only the icing on the cake.

Dude had somehow wandered into the kitchen during all of the conversation and had returned with a 6-pack of beer, handing one out to each of the Karofskys. When the last was handed toward Kurt his nose wrinkled. "What's wrong? Not fancy enough?"

"I don't drink beer."

"Two for me then."

"Wait... there were six of those. And there are six of you."

"Jeez, Kurt," Dude chuckled, his head shaking as if to a particularly amusing joke, "I don't give beer to little kids. I have morals."

The countertenor placed the cold can of Bud Light on the table before another concern hit him. "Wait, wait, wait! You can't drink that many. My father will think I've become an alchie!"

"I don't think anyone could ever think Fancy would drink Bud Light. Shit tastes like crap." Hulk took a long drink as he grimaced it down.

"I don't drink alcohol."

"Good." The Fury had placed his unopened drink on the table next to Kurt's. "It dulls the senses and slows the mind. That's not useful. We need an action plan."

"Look Kar... Fury." Kurt had assigned the names he'd better use them. "I can't tell from such small details what happened or even how it could be possible. I don't think Russian singing is going to help us here. Can you remember anything else. Any of you?"

"They must have done this because of the prank." Hulk crushed the beer can in his hand, the liquid already gone. "The fucking crown! Someone found out about what...," his eyes went panicked, "what you did!" He snarled before L jumped to his feet.

"I kissed him! Don't you cheapen it!"

"He kissed me. I'm no queer!"

"I wanted to, he was beautiful. He never took your shit and he was beautiful."

"Fuck this shit. You need to go first. It's the perfect fucking opportunity. I can kill you now and they will never find out about the sick shit you want to do to Hummel. I never wanted any of it! I just want to...," Hulk's eyes darted to Kurt, his lip curled away from the counter tenor, "be normal."

"Having the ability to quote off the Mandelbrot set is hardly normal." Prof was slowly sipping his beer, his hazel eyes sharp and predatory. A shudder ran through Kurt, he knew that look, it was the one that simmered through the air every time Dave made a comment, each time he hissed some insult or barked some demeaning words.

"Maybe I should just off you, too. Less shit to hide."

"Yes without me you can go back to ramming your hands into locker doors and attempting to move beyond your pathetic lizard brain. Admirable."

"You fucking bastard!" Hulk lunged at Prof, his huge arms meaning to do damage.

Kurt jumped between them, trying to prevent the fight from destroying his living-room. The boy's locker-room still had a dent in Dave's locker from the kiss that had started it all. "I'll kill you." The memory of the hissed words rang through his ears as the clenched fist swung toward his face. There was nothing to stop this version of Dave Karofsky. This was the man who had wanted to hit him in the locker room, the one who had made him fear for his very life, the one who knew nothing but pain and hatred. Kurt was going to die. Why had he ever agreed to help?

A cry of pain rang out, shockingly it came from a deeper register then Kurt had ever been able to hit. The thick tanned arms enclosed around him, the pectoral muscles pressing into his shoulders as the meaty left arm cradled his head and the right was flung out. He was wrapped in powerful arms, thick rippling muscles and the overwhelming scent of Old Spice and man. Now he knew what Dave Karofsky smelled like and it certainly wasn't boy's locker-room.

These arms had to belong to The Fury. He was the leader, he wouldn't let Hulk and Prof fight each other would he? He wouldn't let Kurt get injured for trying to stop them right? He was safe because of The Fury... "I'll never let him hurt you. I swear Kurt. I never wanted to hurt you." L's softer tones cradled around him even as he grunted in pain from the strikes. Hulk hadn't slowed down his punches. Finally a barked order from The Fury later and Hulk was back to his corner, deep furrows marring his brow as his eyes never left Kurt.

The huge arms didn't let him go, as if he feared the fight would start again. The bored words of Prof floated down. "So much unnecessary emotion, really, why should any of them remain."

Kurt pushed L's arm away, scrambling out of the warm strong arms. L smiled sadly, but let him go without a fight. Kurt was sure he should have been concerned over the strikes L endured, but that was so far beyond his mind he couldn't deal with it. Dave was attacking him, belittling him, protecting him and reading his father's magazines, in Kurt's house, alone. Dave was split into pieces and somehow Kurt thought he could help? Ha! He'd clearly skipped right off the deep end. "I can't handle this. I can't handle this! Don't touch me!" He turned to Prof. "Don't talk to me! Just don't get near me!"

With that he ran down into his basement bedroom, leaving 5 Daves to stare in shock.


	4. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

Kurt screamed as he slammed the door to his huge closet. He had his laptop under one arm with his ear-buds hanging over his shoulder. He could not deal with one more manifestation of Dave! If it wasn't the panic, it was the screaming, if not screaming then bitter homophobic comments, if not comments and the coup-de-gras: the uselessness of the only intelligent one. He just wanted to do something very drastic, and as much as he'd love to put a bullet into them, he doubted it would make him feel better.

No, he needed peace and quiet, and since his room was the basement room, they were all hiding down there. His closet, however, had plenty of space. In fact, Rachel had called it a closet fit for a Queen. He had to agree. It was almost a full room in and of itself. He plugged his power brick into the wall and crossed his feet to lower himself to the ground. And then there was a sharp pain in his tush. "By Madonna's pointy bra, what in the...!"

"Noo! Don't sit on Ivan!" a very childish voice called out.

Kurt pulled the red Power Ranger from under his derriere, and realized that somehow this child had found the box of old toys that was buried in the back of his closet. He handed the plastic doll over to find a chubby little hand taking it and hugging it to his chest. Two huge hazel eyes looked up at him from his spot on the floor. The child was surrounded by the action figures, an obvious order to their placement. The boy was smiling hesitantly to Kurt.

"What's your name?" Kurt asked gently, the anger and frustration from before melting at the image of this adorable child. He couldn't be more than about 6-years-old with those adorable chubby cheeks.

"I'm David Leonid Karofsky." The boy enunciated each syllable with pride. "You can call me Davey-dear, that's what Momma calls me." The chubby little cheeks glowed brightly as he looked shyly toward Kurt.

"Alright Davey-dear. What's going on here?" He asked curiously at the set-up of the toys.

"Ivan is the priest. Skeletor and Nikolai are getting married because they kicked all the bad-guys' butts." The boy giggled and walked the green Power Ranger and the Skeletor figure that Kurt had once dipped in glue and then glitter, because he was not fashionable, up the red aisle that the little boy had made from one of Kurt's fallen ties. Thankfully, it was one his father had gotten him years ago that he'd turned away from in horror.

Kurt couldn't help but smile. Looks like he wasn't the only little boy who planned weddings. "So who's the best man?"

"Princy," the little one said, pointing to the My Little Pony that had a glued on crown. Kurt smirked. "They're gonna be happy forever AND be crime fighting superheroes!"

Kurt giggled at the adorable and very firm declaration. "I'm sure they will be." He watched as Davey-dear yawned. Kurt's laptop was forgotten to his side.

"Why don't you cuddle up here next to me?" Davey-dear jumped the short distance between them and landed in Kurt's lap. He snuggled against his thin chest, his ear pressed over Kurt's heart.

"You smell nice." The little one yawned

"Sleep now, Davey-dear." He wrapped both arms around Davey-dear and held the little bundle tight. So, there was one part of Karofsky that was worth trying to protect. Kurt fell asleep curled around the boy.


	5. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

Kurt didn't trust to shower with this many Dave Karofskys in the house, so his morning preparation time was cut in half. He needed to help Dave to become one again, and if in the process he could manage to cut out a few of the more frustrating and damaging aspects, then all the better. The first one to go would be Hulk, clearly this was the source of his horrible self-hate. The next would be Prof. He'd never expected Dave to be very intelligent anyway, he could do with losing the condescending nature. He had no doubt that this one was the source of all of his brilliant plans for the humiliation and belittling the glee club. He would even eliminate Dude because really, what gay man would want a man who was more interested in fly-fishing then fashion? Also L, he could do without his rapist tendencies... He could keep The Fury and Davey-dear. It was a perfect plan. Now all Kurt needed was an outfit to suit the situation.

"Okay." Kurt clapped his hands together to awaken and bring the scattered men to attention. Kurt stood in his room, searching out where each of them had managed to sleep for the night. His eyes headed to the bed, finding Prof sleeping there as if he owned the place. Kurt snarled, watching Prof rise to the clap, utterly at ease. Kurt glared, what right did he have to sleep there? Now his bed was going to smell like jock and day-old clothing. He considered commenting, but he could already hear the defense of 'it was the most logical place to sleep'. The less conversations with Prof, the better for Kurt's sanity and temper.

One of his pillows had been taken from the bed and was curled into the cuddling arms of a Dave that was blinking confusedly. An L marked hand rubbed into one hazel eye. Those eyes blinked before realizing who had woken him. A bright smile blasted Kurt, a joy glowed there that colored his mumbled greeting. "Mornin' Fancy."

Kurt's eyes went wide. L was using an insult? A slur that Dave had flung at him many times. Why in the world was L using a word that would degrade him? Unless it wasn't supposed to be an insult... a memory of Quinn affectionately calling Finn 'Meathead' swept through his head. OK, it was time for an abort button on that line of thought. This situation was awkward enough without knowing which of Dave's past insults were pet-names.

Kurt's eyes darted to where the Fury had been pacing the floor, already awake and dressed in what looked like a set of his father's sweatpants and an old shirt of Finn's. The sweatpants fit just fine, if they were a little short, and showed about 3 inches of The Fury's hairy calves. They were very well muscled calves.. must be hell to find boots that fit. The white shirt was meant for a much more compact jock. While the shoulders fit just fine, the material was pulling tight over his pecs and biceps, displaying all that hard-earned thick muscle for Kurt's eyes. It was all solid muscle, even the stomach, which, although not the cut abs of Sam, was tightly packed with shifting muscle. The Fury offered a simple nod which Kurt returned with a small tight smile. He doubted his brother and father would care about the pilfered clothing. It allowed Kurt to differentiate the leader of the hamhock band with ease.

Dude had taken up residence on Kurt's laptop and was currently surfing one of the 'Icanhazcheezeburger' web sites. It looked like FML. How oddly appropriate. Davey-dear seemed to be curled up to his side, falling back to sleep on the calmer Karofsky after Kurt had shooed him out of the closet in order to dress. The adorable child was in an outfit of Kurt's he'd worn when he was a few years older than Davey-dear. Kurt had found some basic black pants and a simple white shirt was covered by a pastel vest with a tiny green bow right under the round cheeked boy's chin. Kurt thought he looked adorable. Dude was in his simple white wife-beater and what looked like green and purple vertical lines. his head turned toward Kurt and his mouth opened. "Hey is there anything but those crappy health food bars in this place?" Kurt's eyes were instantly drawn to the stack of 15 or so wrappers that had once contained Kurt's high energy health bars for when he had no time to cook during one of his 'extreme fashion' projects.

"Let me go upstairs and make sure no one has arrived home unexpectedly and I can make a big batch of pancakes."

"Thanks, Dude."

"Don't call me that." Kurt sighed, finding he didn't have the energy for his temper. He had to just power through the situation and hopefully come out with a better Dave overall. "Dave." At least it was easy to get all of their attention. "Today we are going to resolve this, before my father and new mother return home, and hopefully before Finn. The boy stays awake playing Halo until dark:30 in the morning so he shouldn't make an appearance until at the earliest, noon. I'm going to make food and you will come upstairs to eat. I want no lip and no back talk. I am fixing you, David Karofsky, end of story." Six sets of eyes watched as the boy strutted right up the stairs.

Kurt thought he heard a faint appreciative 'damn' behind him and he can't help but exaggerate his hip sway.


	6. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

Kurt pulled out the largest of the mixing bowls. Carole had brought it with her when she'd joined the family and informed Kurt that it was her 'You invited the _entire_team over Finn?' bowl. Carole knew well of Finn and Puck's inseparable nature and their bottomless pits of stomachs. The concept that Kurt did not eat in a similar manner still seemed to puzzle his step-mother. Kurt began calculating the recipe for 6 Karofskys.

Kurt began cracking the entire carton of eggs into the bowl, soon adding flour, butter, all of the milk left in the carton, and some sugar. The damned mixing bowl was too heavy to reasonably think he could mix it while holding it in his arms. He and the whisk battled the concoction once he'd placed it on the counter. Right around the time Kurt's bicep was beginning to burn and the batter was only about half done, a soft clearing of throat came.

Kurt looked up from his groaning to see The Fury watching him. He lifted a single eyebrow. The decisive male strode forward, lifting the bowl from the counter, cradling it in his arm with ease. He began to used the whisk with a perfect grip. The first time he'd attempted to teach Finn, he'd gripped the damned utensil like a drum stick and had ended up flinging the front-heavy utensil across the kitchen, spreading cornbread mix all over the kitchen.

"My babushka taught me," The Fury supplied, catching Kurt's disbelieving stare.

"That's Russian for grandma isn't it?"

"Yeah. She's second generation. She knows all sorts of recipes. She teaches me because my cousin Melanie won't come see her and I will."

Kurt reached for the large electric griddle that Carole stored on top of the fridge. He grunted at the weight and awkward angle of having to reach of it.

"There are 6 of us. We should be making breakfast for you."

"I'm fine on my own." It wasn't an insult, just a fact of Kurt's life.

"You always seem to have people around. The glee kids, that black chick, Finn, your boyfriend."

"I guess I do. I never think of it like that."

"You're not on your own. You can definitely survive, but you're not alone. You shouldn't be. It's too likely you'll be hurt."

"I can take care of myself," Kurt growled as he sprayed the surface of the griddle.

"Don't get like that. It's nothing against your being gay or being a man. I know you can defend yourself verbally. You need to be realistic. You're thin, lightly built, and you're easy to bruise and overpower. You care a lot about your friends. You'd be easy to hurt because you never want to show anyone."

"Why do you care?" Kurt hissed at him, taking the now mixed bowl out of The Fury's hands.

"I care for you and will keep you safe." What was it with Fury and talking in absolutes?

"I'm not your boyfriend Dave. You have to be out before that can happen."

"Out or not, I plan on protecting you. I want to be with you, but I fucked that up. Protecting you matters most."

"Hulk fucked that up."

"No, I did. He's a coward. He gets frightened and freaked out and then tries to run. I took initiative to try to stop all of this. I had to do something to make it stop."

"It won't stop, David."

"Yeah. Found that out. Now I have a chance to be better..." Before Kurt could ask about the meaning, a hesitant voice brought him away from the moment.

"Need an extra pair of hands Fancy?" L was leaning into the hallway separating the kitchen and living room looking hopeful.

"I'm just pouring the batter now. Would you take the hash browns out of the freezer and put them on the baking sheet." Maybe he should accept help.

"I could fry them. I know my way around a kitchen." L offered with pride, already setting himself to the task.

"I heard." Kurt watched L cautiously, as the man poured out the vegetable oil. "Your grandmother taught you?"

"Yeah. Babuska's the best. She always sings when we cook and I love her so much. She tells me to be brave and things are going to be happy one day. Her baking smells like joy and comfort. I wish I got more time to be with her. She lives all by herself out on Breecher Road. I think she must be lonely living way out there. She says she still talks to Dedushka."

"Grandpa," The Fury provided when Kurt's expression turned confused.

"She says she hears his voice when she goes about her day."

"That's very sweet..." Kurt flipped the first set of pancakes.

"One day I'm going to have a love like that, where you know each other so well that their voice becomes a part of your heart, a part of your day so much, that even when they're gone, you can hear them." Kurt had never seen such a gentle expression on Dave's face.

"I'm sure you'll find that David." Kurt knew he was talking to a part of Dave that still hoped and dreamed for a better life than he'd been given.

"Fat chance." The low growl of Hulk set Kurt's teeth on edge. He'd like nothing more then to find a way to make that piece of Karofsky disappear so the rest could live in peace.

L fell silent, concentrating on the bits of potato sizzling in the pan. His eyes were red, and Kurt wasn't sure how to handle the rush of sympathy flooding him. Instead of speaking, he finished the pancakes, placing the covered serving plate with the pile in the center of the dining room table. When L, red eyes with small tear tracks on his round cheeks, set the hash browns out, Kurt pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. The smile that lit his face was near blinding, and Kurt had to turn away in favor of calling the rest of their merry band of Karofskys to the table.


	7. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

Kurt began to take out cups for all of them. A smaller glass of milk was placed beside Davey-dear. Kurt's hand fluffed the little curly head affectionately. When he turned back to the glasses, he found Fury and L working seamlessly together to fill and place the glasses down. Hulk was grumbling as he set the table with silverware. All Kurt could do was sit at the head of the table and allow the Karofskys to serve him. Well, if that wasn't a heady and bizarre feeling. They all seemed to be pretty well behaved and willing to help out, all save for Dude who had already dug in without care to who was at the table or if he had a fork at first.

The silence was pleasant, small words passed between them when a platter needed to be passed, or a question about why the syrup tasted funny. Kurt found that all but Dude had perfectly polite table manners. Someone had trained Dave well. Kurt wondered if this was what David was like with his Grandmother.

"Don't eat so fast, idiot, " Hulk growled to Dude, who seemed to be shoveling food into his mouth. "I'm already fat enough."

Kurt's head came up at the negative self-talk. Hulk was the worst type of conscience he could imagine to torment poor Dave. Once most of the food was gone, Fury spoke.

"We must have a plan." Kurt nodded, focusing his attention. They needed to get Dave back into one piece.

"We could sing the song Babushka sang. I heard it on the tracks." Davey-dear offered hopefully.

"A hospital for temporary insanity would be better." Hulk supplied with irritation.

"We can't be sure it has anything at all to do with that song. Eliminating what it cannot be would be most logical."

"Well it can't be anything after the split. So let's start before it." Kurt drummed his fingers along his arm. "Prom."

"You'd do this? Because we wouldn't prance like a fucking - "

"Shut it now. Kurt's helping us. He didn't do this." Hulk and Fury stared each other down for a moment before Hulk turned away, his glare threatening his plate.

"Maybe Puckerman spiked the punch like he said, except he spiked it with his scientist uncle's new discovery that is a cloning draught in the early stages of development. It was put into the punch and all over Lima there are 6 of each teenager!"

The table was silent for a long moment, taking in the babbling of Dude. Suddenly the giggles began, tiny high snickers from Davey-dear, deep disbelieving chuckles from L, snorts and derisive 'ha's' from Prof.

"What? It could happen!" Dude insisted. "I saw it on the Sci-fi channel."

"Okay 1," Kurt began, "you're assuming Puck has any intelligent genetics. 2, I would be multiple and we would have a much larger and obvious problem, and 3, that's just ridiculous."

Dude huffed, his meaty arms crossing over his chest. "I thought it was a good idea." He stood, moving over to the living room couch. He clicked on the T.V., clearly dismissing them and their laughter over his ideas.

"Logic dictates we should start at the occurrence. We were at the train tracks."

Suddenly the sound of keys in the front door and the soft humming of 'Walk This Way' sliced through the conversation. Kurt's heart thudded harsh against his chest, Finn was home. His eyes darted to the clock. He was 3 hours early. He was NEVER home before 12, and it was 9am! He met the eyes of Hulk before The Fury barked out an order.

"Hide!"

The jocks and Kurt scrambled to find locations to hide away. Kurt ran for the coat closet, the door shutting swiftly as he was suddenly pressed tight to a broad Dave chest. If it was L he was going to scream! A meaty hand clamped over his mouth. "Done you dare say a word, bitch." Oh even better, Hulk.

"Yo, Kurt, I'm back. Something smells good." The plodding steps passed the coat closet without opening it. Thank Liza for Finn's inability to leave his coat anywhere but in the middle of a walkway.

"What the hell? Karofsky?" Hulk and Kurt shared a horrified look.

"Hey, Finn." At least it was a full grown Dave.

"Dude! What are you doing in my house! Is that your car outside? Are you messing with Kurt because I was kinda liking you not being a douche."

"We had pancakes." Technically true, Kurt was ruling out Prof for the lack of complex answers.

"Cool. Any left over? Kurt's pancakes are badass... even if the syrup tastes funny. It's all heart healthy light syrup."

"It did taste funny."

"Whatcha watching?"

"Sports Center. They're talking about the Red Wings' lineup."

"Awesome." The distinctive flump of Finn sitting had Kurt squirming, finally pushing the meaty hand off his mouth. That couldn't be The Fury, he wouldn't have let this drag on this long.

"Me and the other football gleeks do a Halo and COD night every other Thursday. Come by next time. You know, now that you're cool with Kurt and all."

"Sweet." That had to be Dude. Oh, Prada, this could last for hours.

The dull roar of some sports program kept Kurt company with Hulk. He tried to look anywhere but the man's eyes and Hulk did the same. They listened to Finn and Dude exchange comments, share frustrations over the picks, and end up singing along with the Oscar Meyer Wiener commercial. If Kurt's ears weren't deceiving him, Dave could hold a tune, no bucket required. After a few more minutes of quiet, Dude spoke again.

"Love you, man." The words rolled casually from Dude's lips. "No homo... Well. I am homo, but not for you."

"Huh?"

Hulk whimpered in fear, his fists clenched so tightly his skin blanched. Kurt's thin body blocking the handle of the impossibly small coat closet door, and his own inability to take those words back stopped Hulk from crashing through the door to kill his other self.

"Dude... Really?"

"Yep"

"Wow..."

"Not really. Just is."

"That's cool. I mean, yeah that's cool. I mean... I don't have any problem with gays, my brother's gay. But you knew that." Kurt groaned at the Finn rambling. "Good to know that gay guys are just guys. It's kinda hard to remember with Kurt. He's just so..."

"Fancy, prissy, calls himself a girl."

"Yeah, confusing." Kurt rolled his eyes. Finn thought pajamas were confusing. "Guess gay is just like any other guy right?"

"Yup."

"So you're here alone with Kurt..." A small amused laugh rolled from Finn. "Cool. I didn't tell that prep kid Blaine this, but you're cool so I'll tell you." Finn's voice dropped and Kurt and Hulk pressed tight against the door to hear. "Burt doesn't really own a shotgun."

"Good to know, man."

"Like I said, me and the other football gleeks do our video game night every other Thursday. You're welcome to come next time, don't forget. You're cool." Not long after, Finn's huge feet tromped up the stairs to his bedroom.

Kurt's eyes glanced up to Hulk, shifting to face the homophobic manifestation. His hand groped for the door handle, just in case. The jock's face was gaping in shock. "He didn't care..."

"Finn's slowly been trained into acceptance."

"He didn't care he... he invited me to hang out. I've been a douche to make sure no one ever found out, and he's gonna be my friend, just like that?"

"That's not always how it goes, but yes. Most people don't care that much. You're not the stereotype of gay... but maybe that's a good thing." Kurt shocked himself with those words. "You're just like any other guy, with one small difference. It doesn't have to take over your life."

"It took over mine. I'm so fucking scared."

"I know... one step at a time. Come on, let's get out of this closet." Kurt couldn't help the small smile at his wording.

"You're such a bitch, Hummel." The sound was almost amused.

He laughed as he turned the handle and walked back into the living room. A pair of wide hands gripped the diaphanous fabric of the living room picture window's drapes. Kurt snorted as L came from the pale blue covering. Prof let the basement door shut as he walked back up the stairs. Davey-dear crawled out from under the kitchen table and The Fury sighed in relief as he walked out from the downstairs bathroom.

Hulk smacked Dude upside the head, earning a confused, 'What?' Kurt hovered nervously at the bottom of the staircase, listening for the indications that Finn was staying upstairs. When 80's hair metal began to blast, he knew they had at least 30 minutes.

"Let's move. The only suggestion that sounded any good at all was going to the tracks." The Fury had already moved to grab his car keys and tossed Kurt's over to the petite male.


	8. Chapter 7

**Part 7**

"Why isn't this working?" Kurt huffed, his nails clicking rapidly on the hood of his truck.

They came back to where Dave said he had passed out, they were standing by the train-tracks, they'd been there for 30 minutes and still there was nothing: no magic portal, no shimmering fairy godmother, nothing but a plain strip of track and a dirt field.

"Maybe we're doomed," Hulk growled at the tracks he hunched beside.

"We're not going home are we?" Davey-dear asked sadly, snuggling himself in the ground next to Hulk. The homophobic male wrapped his arms around the child, cuddling him close. "We're stuck like this. No one will understand. We'll be alone again, alone, not good enough, a freak."

Kurt watched in horror as each whispered worry from the boy, causing the huge shoulders to bunch and tighten. Davey-dear kept talking, little sobs racking his body. "We'll have no friends. No one will care. I don't wanna be alone."

"We're not supposed to all go back together." Fury broke his long silence, slicing through the argument.

"What do you mean?"

"Ah, how astute. The option that is less of a solution and more of an opportunity. You should like this one, Kurt. No doubt your mind has toyed with the very idea. You can't tell us there is not at least a single aspect of us that you could do without."

"You're saying it's fucking fate or something?" Hulk snarled.

"That assumes life has some purpose. No, merely an opportunity."

"So we take it. I know what gets cut first." Fury's fists clenched tight, as every Dave tensed, unable to predict who he would decide to turn against.

"What? Fury are you mad? You can't just kill of pieces of yourself!"

"Why not? That's why we were here." L smiled sadly, watching Kurt with such longing.

"You can't cut out pieces of yourself! It doesn't work like that. You have to be one whole person!"

"This is better than all of us dying, then me dying. Look Kurt, maybe this time... maybe this time you'll like me a little. Once the parts you hate are gone." L reached out and very gently petted Kurt's cheek. "One last one for the road? I know Fury will kill me. I screwed up all the plans by falling in love with you."

"No! That's ridiculous!" Kurt spun on his heel ready to fly at Fury with all of the rage in his little body. He couldn't start killing himself!

"You first. You've always been my worst enemy." The Fury growled out, looking to his first target. L was facing Kurt, his faced scrunched up in tension as a tear feel. He waited for the first low. Hulk screamed out. "You! This was always your fault. So frightened of everything that we jump at our own shadow, that we lash out at our friends. Everyone hates us because you're afraid!"

For a second, Kurt stood there staring. He hated Hulk? Wait, didn't Dave hate being gay? He used to act like that was the problem. L was clearly that drive, but it was Hulk that Fury was beginning to choke."All that fear, that doubt, the oppressive repetitions of not being good enough. You and that brat! You die first."

Hulk wasn't going down without a fight. The behemoth men traded blows, their animalistic roars blasting through the barren landscape.

"Stop them! Prof you have to stop this. Can't you at least see it's madness? He can't kill Hulk."

"Perhaps not. They have exactly the same physical strength, but Fury has more will and well, Hulk is a coward at heart."

"He's important to who you are!"

"He's the one that threatened to kill you."

"He was scared and lashing out and it was stupid, but we all do stupid things. He tried to protect himself. In our school it was necessary. When I get scared, I spit insults. Otherwise, I curl into myself and let everything get to me. You need him. He stopped you from being revealed for years, from the torment you'd have gone through. If you had to deal with what I did, you'd have worn down so fast. He's your armor!"

"Perhaps. We don't need him now do we? Shouldn't we come out and make a difference?"

Kurt flinched at those words. He'd whispered them to a scared terrified boy who was just trying to keep himself together. It was selfish and wrong and... he'd come to the train tracks hoping to die. "I need him. I need to show him it's not always going to be like that. He saw Finn, he was happy for that moment knowing it would be alright. Fear is a part of us that we need. It keeps us safe by telling us what is bad, and what's coming. It's our armor against the world and you need that. Otherwise, anyone can hurt you."

Suddenly the scuffle ended, Hulk's massive frame lay sprawled across the first rail, limp. The Fury stood, his eyes set and Kurt suddenly knew where he'd seen this side of Dave before. The threat... It wasn't Hulk, he was scared, but he wasn't the one making the decisions here. The Fury had acted, taken the step to ensure Kurt's mouth stayed shut. He was the leader and it was the best course of action to scare Kurt into believing he would die if he told anyone. Kurt's frozen form was suddenly jolted from his state when a high scream came from Davey-dear.

"Get your hands off him!"

"Useless leftover thing. Childish. We don't need friends, we don't need to be cared for. We can handle everything alone." Kurt was suddenly restrained, the huge hands of Prof banding around Davey-dear's arms.

"It's better this way, Kurt. All of this is holding us back. The child cared too much about things like friendship, making father proud, being alone. He holds us back."

"You stupid Meathead! You think he's going to stop after that? You think he won't hesitate to do the same to you? The Fury here wants everything to be a clear choice, to be his decision!"

"I know. Isn't he quaint? That's why I'm letting him exhaust himself on the others and when he gets to me, I'll have the upper-hand and walk away from this without all these pesky emotional wrecks."

Kurt barely had time to respond with rage when a sickening crunch brought his head back up. Oh, God no! Davey-dear! What had he done to Davey-dear! At first he couldn't see the child, only the huge grappling of Fury and Dude.

"This is wrong," Dude said, his huge biceps twinging in the effort of restraining The Fury. "This is wrong." His voice was strong and steady as his arm was tossed off and a blow rained into his ribs. Kurt could hear a sickening crack. "This is wrong."

"Davey-dear!" Kurt screamed, struggling against the unyielding arms. "Release me right now you bastard, before I stick the spiked heel of my boot so high up your ass It will take a Chilean Mining expedition to retrieve it!"

"I got him, Kurt." L held the sobbing little figure, cradling him tight. Davey-dear was holding his wrist, it was bent at an unnatural angle.

"Keep him safe!" He bit hard into the flesh of Prof's arms, earning a yelp and just enough give that his lithe dancer's body slipped from his grasp and swiftly toward Hulk. "You stupid brute, you had better be alive!"

Dark thick blood gathered at Kurt's fingers as he tried to lift Hulk's head. A sob worked it's way from his throat as he placed the fallen man back down. He shouldn't move him, if someone was hurt you shouldn't move them. Dammit! "Wake up! You can't be dead you stubborn ass!"

"Kurt. What do we do?" Love gathered close, a thick warm arm wrapping around his thin shoulder. It was solid and real and comforting. Kurt wasn't sure how it could be the same arm that had held him back. He leaned into Love and let himself be comforted for a moment. He surged up then, kissing Dave's mouth with everything he had. If Dave died tonight he wanted him to know he was loved, all the good and all the bad. No one thing is ever enough to give up on everything. As his lips parted from the flush cheeked Love/Lust, Kurt spoke. "I want you in my life, all of you. I'm going to go make sure that happens."

The battle raged on, blood dripped down Fury's mouth where a tooth had been knocked out. Dude was making head-way, but a single slip up and the fight could shift. If that happened, no one would be able to stop Prof. There was no way that was happening!

"Davey-dear sit next to Hulk okay?" He petted Davey-dear's cheek tenderly. He then turned to L with steel in his voice. "Come with me. We need to stop this now. Prof is planning to kill Fury once he's finished the rest off. We need to bring Fury around to our side or we need to take down Prof and then Fury. Do you think Dude can handle himself?"

"We once let the whole football team take a swing at us on a dare, we didn't even puke. He's good for awhile."

"Good to know if I ever need a punching bag. I've got extension cables in my car. Prof will think we're trying to help Dude. Once we get them, you bull-rush Prof and I'll tie his arms. "

"Got it."

Kurt and L moved swiftly, gathering the cords before sneaking back around. On the third heartbeat, L bull-rushed, the Prof didn't have enough time to jump away. The cold, intelligent man was brought down to the ground in a grunting mass of Karofsky. Once Love had wrestled the logical Dave's face into the dirt, he took the cords and made swift secure knots at the wrists, tying each individually before tying them together and tucking the ends up so Prof couldn't get to them.

"Gotta love the Cub Scouts," Love chuckled before jumping off the bitterly grumbling man and facing the Titans locked in battle.

"This is wrong." "This is necessary."

"This is stupid!" Kurt's piercing high register sliced through their battle of conscious. "You are killing yourself! "

"What do you care Kurt? This is better for you."

"My life will never be better without you! All of you. Dave, you're a wonderful, brilliant, funny, gentle, sarcastic, determined, laid-back man. I know every bit of you now. I'm a part of your life and how dare you take away any of it from me! You brought me into your life the first day you shoved me, and I refuse to leave now. You need them and they need you, all of you."

Kurt's gaze shifted to include all of the Karofskys, even the fallen two. "You are so sweet, Dave, still a child at heart wanting nothing more to grow up to fight crime and do good. You're witty and so intelligent, able to trade verbal sparring with me and mostly win. You are steady and calm, standing your ground happy to have simple pleasures in life. You are a love, willing to sacrifice yourself to protect those you love." Kurt's voice hitched as he looked to the fallen Hulk. "You are trying so hard not to get hurt, willing to do anything to keep safe and protected. And you... The Fury, You are a leader, a driving force that no matter what your goal, you focus on it and you complete it. Each of these things you need, you are."

The Fury's fists lowered as Kurt's speech ended. "What have I done?" He slumped into Dude's arms, a painful sob shuddering from him.

Davey-dear had woken and was beginning to cry. Everything had gone wrong! The child reached to hug around his own arms. Softly, Davey-dear began to sing. Kurt couldn't understand Russian, but as Love picked up the words and sang, it sounded so sad and beautiful, that tears fell from Kurt's eyes.

Slowly, Prof walked to carefully kneel beside Hulk's limp form. Dude took Davey-dear and rocked him gently, singing in a lower gruff voice. Prof joined in. Finally, The Fury tenderly lifted Hulk's head and placed it into his lap and took up the final verse. A bright white light engulfed the 6 Daves and then there was nothing.


	9. Chapter 8

**Part 8**

Kurt wondered why his life was always so different. No other boy would be sitting in the stark, white waiting room of St. Rita's, anxiously awaiting to see if his former bully was still alive. Kurt had come to that morning to find 1 and only 1 Dave Karofsky laying bleeding on the train tracks. As the ambulance had whisked them off, the EMT has listed off his wounds. Each one brought Kurt into a greater state of confusion. Dave had three cracked ribs, a sprained wrist, broken nose, a possibly broken jaw, and a head wound.

Kurt paced, trying to make sense of it all. The stark white walls of St. Rita's waiting room mocked him. The analog clock measured the time in slow paced ticks of seconds, even slower turns of minutes and a millenia between hours. Dave's parents came in during the second hour, their faced pale and their ages advanced by decades.

The doctor had come out finally, and with parental permission, he'd finally been allowed in to see Dave. Kurt had no way to measure the time that had passed. It felt like weeks, but the clock on the wall suggested it had been about 10 hours since they had arrived. 10 hours, and he was finally ushered in to see Dave.

"Crazy night huh?" Dave croaked toward Kurt, his neck wrapped in bandages and his head shaved bald. His face was bandaged with a long strip of gauze over his swollen nose. His left wrist was in a brace, and judging by the tiny breaths Dave took, the bandages around his chest probably did little to muffle the pain of the broken ribs.

"Crazy..." Kurt sat in the bed, ignoring the chair, needing to be close. He reached out to touch the wrist not locked in a restraint. "You seem to be talking so no broken jaw?"

"Nah I'm a lucky fucker." His mouth was still a mottled patching of black and blue from where The Fury had wailed on Hulk. Kurt's eyes searched Dave's eyes, trying to find answers to the madness they'd experienced. "They say I look like I got into a fist fight not got hit by a train. Musta been fighting with myself. Right Fancy?"

For a moment Dave was watching with the same intensity. He could feel The Fury in those eyes, his brown eyes were always so piercing. Suddenly they gentled. "Or fighting with you right? I wouldn't blame you for laying a few good shots on..."

"Stop that right now Hulk. I don't want to hurt you like you want to hurt yourself." Emotions dashed over Dave's face.

It was shocking, but Kurt could see each of them in his expressions. Hulk's fear in the eyes darting back and forth to check if anyone heard, Prof's cold analytical quirk of the brow, L's hope in the pulling of his lips upward, The Fury pushing his features into a stoic tension along his jaw... Dude even let out a soft 'heh' at him while Davey-dear reached the good and toward him for comfort.

Kurt took that hand, took all that was battling within Dave and accepted it. As the features smoothed he knew they had come to an accord, calming.

"Sure Kurt. I don't really want to hurt myself anymore... " Dave hesitated, his fingers squeezing Kurt's hand. They remained there, holding hands as the seconds took up their slow ticking pace.

"You... okay now?"

"Define okay? I'm in a fucking lot of pain, but no, I don't plan on offing myself again." Dave's dry sarcasm made a small laugh come up.

"Good. I'd miss all of you."

"Just one me Fancy. All one screwed up self..."

The question, the hope that Dave shared the memory laid on his lips. He couldn't ask, what could he say? 'Hey Dave, do you remember splitting into 6 aspects of you much like a psychotic break except it was all real?' "I like it. Hope it all stays together."

"Came out to my parents when they asked why I jumped on the tracks."

"How'd they take it?"

"Mom slapped me." He gave a soft hopeful smile. "She said if I ever tried anything so stupid again, I'd be grounded for the rest of my life. She said she'd rather had a living, gay son than a dead, straight one. Guess my fear was just unfounded."

"Fears are usually irrational, but they can be changed into something good."

"Yeah..." Dave paused for a long stretch, long enough for Kurt to think he wouldn't talk. Then his arched eyebrows rose and a hopeful expression brought Kurt's mind to a flash of L and cooking hash browns. "Hey, Fancy... Once I get outta here... Can I see you? I mean I know you're dating the rich kid, but I'd like to talk to you, as friends. "

"I'd love to, Dave."

"Cool. " Dave hesitated, as if on the edge of saying something else, but as the nurse walked in, he shook his head and just gave a small wave.

As Kurt arrived home, he smiled, able to put away the strange experience as a fluke. Dave hadn't mentioned it, but Dave seemed calmer, happier with himself. It must have been the shock of seeing Dave injured that caused the strange delusion. He chuckled at the ridiculous idea of dividing Dave into aspects of his personality. It was absurd and clearly just his overactive imagination. He passed his brother as he was heading down the landing. By the look of constipation, it seemed Finn was on the phone with his girlfriend, whichever it was this week and Kurt certainly didn't want to hear it. He shut the door to the basement.

"I don't get it Rachel. I mean he was here, we watched sports together. I don't get how he could be in the hospital. He didn't seem like he had a head wound..."

AN: Thank you all for coming on this journey with me. This fic was quite intense to write and I hope you enjoyed.


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